You just made my list!

There I was, minding my own business, when all of a sudden, Celtic Thunder takes a big ol’ Irish shit all over my TV!

Well, at least I now know why Irish Dancing is popular… people in Ireland are RETARDED! You heard me Ireland, get your shit together!

I was once like you. Well, I was like a more awesome version of you. Anyway, I once roamed the planet without any knowledge that on that very same planet a group of drunk (I’m assuming) lip-syncing Irish assholes were prancing around on stage like some sort of evil tampon commercial directed by Walt Disney. And the audience is eating this shit up like it’s free cabbage. Do Irish people eat cabbage? I’m assuming they do.

This has got to be one of the most horrifying things ever created by man. These turds make Hitler look like Mr. Rogers and Haiti seem like a perfectly good spring break destination. I’m serious, this is the worst thing I have ever seen.

You know, I’m half Irish but after discovering Celtic Thunder I’m thinking about cutting myself in half and letting some dogs eat the Irish side.

Never has an unplugged guitar rocked so hard.

Caution: This will make you grow a vagina. If you already have a vagina, get ready for another, more vagina-y, one!

Hey great, you found a way to make creepy mannequins even more nightmarish!

Maybe it’s because I accidentally said “excuse me” to a mannequin once, or maybe it’s because female mannequins with erect nipples honestly turn me on a little, I don’t know but I just sort of feel animosity towards them. They stand there judging you with their perfect bodies and handless wrists, convincing you to buy shit at Old Navy that you don’t even like. They suck you in with their spell and make you ponder unthinkable things like, “maybe those Dockers would look good on me.”

Mannequins are assholes, but living mannequins are the poo that squeezes out of that asshole. I feel dumb enough at the mall without some vapid, shiny model giving me the stink-eye while I check out the crotch of their jeans. I’m sorry, I just need to see if it’s a zipper or a button fly. I can’t help it if you happen to be wearing those jeans as I slowly run my pizza-covered hands up the inner thigh of the Levi’s I may or may not purchase. Who told you to be a fucking mannequin for a living?

The word mannequin, when broken down to its Latin roots, literally translates to.. how the fuck do I know what it means? I just know it doesn’t mean 19-year-old-dumb-model-standing-there-making-me-feel-uncomfortable-while-I’m-staring-at-her-nipples.

Today is my birthday, so you are lucky I am even taking the time to write about this creepy bullshit.

Do you know what a “dakimakura” is? If you answered yes to this question and then looked across the room to see your pillow girlfriend sitting on the couch watching TV, I kindly ask you to drive to Home Depot, buy a chain saw and mutilate your entire crotch area. God damn it, I don’t want to live in a world where men marry pillows. Global warming can’t come fast enough.

Sure, I dated a few tube socks in high school, but I never took them to prom or bought them flowers. I may have made out with my pillow a few times in junior high while watching scrambled porn on channel 44, but that was just young love. It never went further then heavy petting and casual dating. To be honest, I had a fear of commitment back then. How could I be sure this was THE pillow I was meant to be with for the rest of my life? I was young and there were lots of linens out there to explore. OK if you want the truth, I had my heart broken by a pillow when I was 16 and I don’t really feel like talking about it!

My birthday is officially ruined.

I was all set to write about how much I hate the Oscars, but God damn it, I didn’t mind them this year. I was happy to see The Hurt Locker steal awards away from that piece of shit Avatar. Keep in mind, I have not seen either movie and yet I have a strong opinion on both. I’m proud to be an American!

Since I have celebrities on my mind, let’s talk about how much more awesome I am than Johnny Depp.

I like Johnny Depp as an actor and I’m sure it would be fun to get drunk with him and have a sword fight. Not like a penis sword fight, I mean with real swords. Although, he was in those pirate movies so it wouldn’t be very fair. OK, let’s just say we get drunk and MAYBE have a pee sword fight. The point I’m clearly making is that this guy dresses like he was part of some childhood game where the participants are blindfolded and race to see how many articles of clothing they can put on before time is up.

I mean what is this guy’s thought process in the morning? “OK, let’s see here… two pairs of jeans, socks on my hands, a leather belt and car keys around my neck, a diaper, five shirts, peanut butter in my hair, tampons in my ears and finally I think I will top it all off with the kind of hat computer programmers wear on game night. Done and done!”

OK, here’s the situation, my parents went away on a week’s vacation and they left the keys to the brand new Porsche.

Sorry, those are the lyrics to Parents Just Don’t Understand. OK, here’s the REAL situation… I went out to dinner tonight, had a great time, drank some wine and now I don’t feel like writing about the topic I was planning for today. I would much rather eat beef jerky and watch Lost on the DVR, even though it will cause rage-induced vomiting from the lack of ANYTHING FUCKING HAPPENING! Why do I continue to watch this fucking show???

So, I will leave you with this. This is actual footage of the world ending. A friend (soon to be ex-friend) sent me this today and I felt like ruining your day too. I dare you to watch this all the way through until the end when things really get emotional. Did you ever wonder why Kurt Cobain killed himself?

Hey, here’s a great idea, let’s float around the middle of the ocean trapped in a giant mall with a bunch of shitty assholes. If we really get lucky, we can all catch the same mystery illness from our little white trash ecosystem. Don’t worry too much about catching something though, it rarely happens!

Who wants to do this? What’s fun about floating around on a giant Holiday Inn and stopping for only an hour in various ports where the locals descend on you like the pubic lice you will no doubt catch from your bed sheets? Then, every night you are forced to eat dinner with strangers who just can’t stop talking about how much they enjoy reruns of “Tool Time.” They will be referring to “Home Improvement” but will call it Tool Time even though they literally watch it every day.

You know when people disappear form cruise ships? I promise you they are jumping to their deaths after the third day of listening to yokels babble on and on about how “funky” that Paula Deen is.

There is no amount of money that could convince me to waste my vacation on a cruise.*

*I know, I know… there are cool, smaller cruises that go to places like Alaska. I’m not talking about those. Maybe I am. I don’t know anymore.

Am I the only person who hates the Olympics?

I used to like the Olympics when they held the winter and summer Olympics together every four years. It felt special and important, but now that we are treated to the Olympics every two years it just becomes annoying.

I especially hate the winter Olympics. Nothing sends my balls further into my body than god damn motherfucking figure skating! If I want to see men in tight pants manhandle Eastern European women wearing too much eye makeup, I would watch my own fantasies. I love it when the ice dancers get all “wacky” and do something silly and whimsical. OH BOY DO I LOVE ME SOME WHIMSY!

Let’s all hop in our time machines and take a trip back to 1990, when Microsoft released the exciting Windows 3.0 and C+C Music Factory was raping your ears with “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now).”

If I am ever this bored please kill me. Punch me in the face, take the metal detector out of my trembling hands, use it to find the nearest large metal item and kill me with it. The only problem with this plan is that it will most likely take you 10 years to find a metal “treasure” big enough to even slightly wound me. I don’t want to sit there for weeks while you try to kill me with someone’s lost earring. Fuck it, just kill me with the metal detector.

I know I shouldn’t care if this activity makes people happy, especially since it’s usually old guys, but it depresses me while I’m chugging my Corona and flexing my biceps for the young ladies who inevitably crowd around me at the beach. Do these dorks realize how hard it is to keep my pecs pumped while watching this sad display out of the corner of my eye? I’m trying to decide which girl gets to oil me up while Joe Treasure Hunter is collecting bottle caps. It’s very distracting.

THIS JUST IN… I love metal detector enthusiasts!